Cessation
by xrictusemprax
Summary: My angel. My Hermione. HarryHermione with implied HermioneRon.


**Author's Note:** Hermione/Harry. Why do I write this stuff? Hahaha! Enjoy, me supposes and it's… odd. My style got messed. Don't ask.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing in Harry Potter, but Hermione and Ron will probably NOT end up as a couple…

**Rating: **Um… K+.

**Summary: **My angel. My Hermione.

There was nothing to brace her for it that night.

We were black figurines of shadows upon a bloodstained ground. Resonating sounds were diluted though my ears as I meekly enclosed her as though I'd never let go; whatever I did, there would be nothing to patch her heart up, there would be no cure. Hermione had died that night.

Her face was flecked with dirt, various cuts crisscrossing her face; the usual hair that was lively and the exact color of her eyes seemed red and tangled as though the thickest vines of the rainforest had weaved themselves through the locks. She faced me and it was all I had not to cry or tell her I was so sorry… though there was nothing to be sorry for.

"Harry…?" she croaked and I tried a smile; it faltered and collapsed, leaving me in a sort of grimace. Hermione's large eyes were shimmering with tears in the pale moonlight. I noticed this and my heart throbbed painfully still.

She started to sob, her face turning onto the crook of my neck; I could feel the bereaved tears splashing upon a particularly deep cut. My emerald green eyes trailed her figure carefully and I noticed how weak we both looked, collapsed on the floor as screams and howls were echoing through the thick forest trees. Loud, menacing cackles joined the terrorized shrieks in a sinister choir that faded dully out of my ears… the only thing that mattered was Hermione.

I slowly hauled her into my arms, much as a groom would do to his bride and forced my dull legs that felt like lead to walk. Just walk. Walk away from this.

She lifted her head to reveal a water glow to the bloody skin of hers. "Harry, I want to say goodbye to him… _please_, it would mean so much."

I gave her a frightful look and firmly shook my head. "Never. I cannot allow you to—"

But before my sentence could be compelled out of my hoarse vocal chords, an explosion that shook the ground my unstable feet were standing upon was followed by a menacing green light. "Don't you see? That's why I can't let you go back, Hermione. They'll kill you."

"They killed me tonight!" she snarled and tried to force her way out of my arms, but I held her tightly. My eyes reflected the baleful light and her form fell limp and lifeless. I took this as my signal and forced all my willpower into focusing upon my home… home… _home…_

Within seconds, the cries of desperate citizens faded into the crinkling ashes of a soft fireplace. I dropped Hermione onto the sofa as her chocolate brown eyes fluttered open. "_Harry_…" she cried, tears trickling down her face once more.

"Hermione," I began, knowing that if I was going to tell her, I should now. "Hermione… um… Ron left something in my possession before he… died." The word was so wrong… he couldn't have died, my best friend of seven years. Maybe I'd wake up and this would all be a dream. "He left me this." I held out a ring; it had a heart-shaped ruby carefully encrusted.

Hermione gasped, her perfect lips shaping a delicate O. She knitted her eyebrows and questioned me.

"I hate to have to give you it, because he told me that if he didn't make it tonight… um… he told me _I_ had to give it to you, but not in the way he intended to present it to you. Hermione, Ron was going to ask you to marry him." My voice trembled… this was all wrong, all wrong… it shouldn't have been me giving her a ring Ron had to.

The brown-haired girl made to leap up from her laying position on my couch, but suddenly, a caramel hand went to her ribs as though they were being cleaved into two. She said nothing; only a small sob was heard.

"Here, take the ring and always think of Ron because I know he'd like that." I held it out in a bloody hand and she took it in trembling hands. Slipping it onto her ring finger of her left hand, the girl gazed at me with teary eyes.

She swallowed before croaking, "Harry, this is all wrong. I feel so bad. I wish I'd died tonight."

I stood kneeled before her and wiped away blood from a deep cut on the side of her face. "I don't want to ever hear that again in my life, Hermione. You're a queen, and Ron would want you to live happily and to find a new love; however, I'm sure he wants to be remembered. You _have_ to wear that ring forever. He'd wanted me to tell you that." It was almost as if Ron knew Voldemort would kill him that night…

I allowed Hermione to use his small washroom to get cleaned up. As I had no female clothing, and as Hermione's clothes were oozing in blood and hardship, I handed her a very large shirt that was three sizes to big for him; she could use that as a nightgown, at least.

While Hermione was in the shower (I heard a loud sob suddenly) I welled in hatred for myself. Ron had just died and with that, feelings of sorrow and misery so great that words did not explain came… but I had found that with Ron gone, perhaps I could be with Hermione now… after all, I loved her so much. She was a princess that was hurting… all of them hurting. I could scarcely imagine the Weasleys' pain at the moment…

She came out of the shower, looking stunning, as much as she tried to not. I admired her figure, and nearly gasped at the shirt I had given her—it was unbuttoned slightly, but enough for me to see her chest. Hermione's eyes were reflecting hurt I hadn't seen in years… not even failing all her exams could create such pain swirling through those milky irises…

"You can go to my room; since I only have one bed, I hope you won't mind sharing it… the couches are far too small." I mildly said, breathless by her dripping hair, her long shirt…

"That sounds great, Harry," she drew her wand sadly from her pants that were clutched in her hand—with a complex spell, she began to dry her hair as I slipped into the shower…

I stumbled out at around eleven o'clock, a pit of misery rising in my chest. It was like a disease and I needed a cure. Hermione would infect me. She was contagious and I felt envy towards Ron. He had stolen her heart… stolen it mercilessly…

I carefully trod into my bedroom and found Hermione on her back, eyes open, wistfully gazing at the ceiling. She flicked them onto me, and most unfortunately, I was only wearing my plaid boxers. Shooting her an apologetic look, I was rewarded with a shake of her head.

"Harry, I loved Ron."

I threw my dirty clothes on the floor and carefully stepped into the bed. "I know you did. He was a great friend and would make the best husband ever."

"You remind me of him," she said skeptically. Her hands were trembling, as was her lip. "I want the kiss I never got, Harry. I never kissed him goodbye. Please, just… let me picture you as Ron for a moment…"

The clammy hands wound themselves upon my rising chest and she entwined a hand into my wet hair.

At first, I was surprised with what passion she kissed me, and then I realized that she would have done this to Ron and I had to pretend. Just pretend.

I woke up early in the morning, green eyes forcing themselves open through my thick eyelids. At first, nothing bothered me… I thought it was a regular August morning… and then I realized that the warm body pressing against mine no longer was there.

Hermione.

Where had she gone? Perhaps the washroom, I thought dully, wondering if her pain was captivating her like a murderous disease. Maybe it was.

Carefully getting out of bed, I noticed how stiff my muscles were… everything ached as though knives were gnawing at my flesh.

"Hermione?" I called loudly, noticing how empty the living room was. The silence deafened painfully… where was she?

I knocked on the door of the washroom, noting that the lights were on. "Herm? You in there?"

No answer.

"Hermione, answer me! What are you doing? Are you okay, Hermione!" I frantically asked, doing something I didn't want to—my hand rested upon the doorknob and I turned it.

To this day, I'll regret turning that knob.

On the floor, the figure of a perfect but wounded girl lay with a silver knife resting in her relaxed hand. Hermione's mouth was open, eyes frozen stiff. Blood encircled her in a soft iridescent swirl—it was like a red river, and it took me a moment to realize that the mouth of the river was her wrist.

I fell onto the floor and cried in agony, trying to wake her. "Hermione, please! GET UP! Don't die, please, don't die…" but it was too late. I felt her pulse and it was nothing but icy skin beneath my fingertips.

"Oh, Hermione…" I bawled, cupping her face as tears rolled down my cheeks. "I love you too, Hermione! DON'T GO!"

However much I pleaded, however much I cried, I knew she'd never come back.

And then I knew.

She didn't kiss me last night in hopes of doing something she never got a chance to.

She had kissed _me_ goodbye.

My angel.

My Hermione.

**Author's Note: **How cheesy, huh? Hehehe. R&R!


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